“No,” she cried, with a quick instinct of reluctance. “Tell me nothing to-night. Let us be happy for this one day.”
Her husband sighed, and was silent.
CHAPTER XVII.
“Agatha, will you come out and walk with me?”
“Do you not see it is raining?”
He had not indeed, though he had stood at the window in meditation ever since breakfast-time. As for Agatha, she had been so tired with her excursion the previous day that she had done nothing but sleep, and had scarcely opened her lips to her husband or to any one. Now, on this rainy day, she felt the reaction of her high spirits—was dull, dreamy; wished her husband would come and talk to her, and “make a baby” of her. She could not think why he stood at that odious window, pondering, counting rain-drops apparently, and then made the unaccountable proposition of a walk.
“Raining, is it?” He looked up at the murky sky. “What a change from last night.”
“I did not know you were so subject to elemental influences?”
“We all are, more or less; but I was just then thinking about other things than what I spoke of. My dear wife, I want to talk to you very much. Where shall we go, so as not to be interrupted?”